May You Live in Interesting Times
by Apapazukamori
Summary: There were a lot more birds flying over the castle calling out "bad omen!" Diplomatic meltdowns, spies and studying are only the start of Yuuri's problems. Set post episode 81; AU timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**May You Live in Interesting Times**

**Part One**

"Your Majesty," Gunter's exasperated voice could be heard from outside the study. "Please pay attention!" Conrad Weller shook his head and laughed to himself as he opened the door. The seneschal looked ready to cry as their king rubbed the back of his neck and tried to apologize. "The ambassador from Conansia Svelela will be arriving in less than a week and you are still mispronouncing the name!"

"Gunteeeeeeeeeer," Yuuri clasped both hands in front of him. "Sorry sorry! It's just too nice outside! Maybe we could have lessons in the garden today?"

Both king and advisor looked toward the front of the room as Conrad closed the door behind him. Yuuri's expression brightened, a hopeful look on his face. "Conrad!" The soldier smiled but bit his tongue to keep from laughing outright. Really, this scene had played out so many times, it was a wonder he still found it so funny. But that was Yuuri, he supposed. The youth in question had pushed back from the table, halfway out of his chair. "It's time for the guard inspection, right? For the ceremony?"

"Oh, but you remember _that_," Gunter groused. "Conrad, is there some way to reschedule the inspection?"

"WHAT?"

Conrad coughed and tried to not see the desperate, pleading look on Yuuri's face. "I'm afraid not, Gunter," he said, hands spread in apology. "But I can guarantee I will return him immediately, if you have time."

Yuuri's expression spoke of a deep, deep betrayal. "Conrad. . ."

Gunter frowned, but nodded, closing the book in his hands with a sharp _snap_. "Very well. I will see you in a few hours, Your Majesty."

With a very loud, put-upon sigh, Yuuri pushed his chair back in and stalked toward the door. Conrad fell in behind him, just over his shoulder. "Thanks for the help back there," Yuuri grumbled, hands stuck deeply into his pockets, the very picture of a petulant schoolboy. Conrad finally gave in and laughed. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he managed. "There wasn't much I could do. At the very least, you should be able to say the ambassador's title without a problem."

"It's not my fault Conancy Slalala... er, Constancy..." Yuuri threw up his hands in frustration. "I still don't get why I can't just say 'hey, Taro, nice to meet you'. I never have."

"I don't believe the ambassador's name is 'Taro,' Your Majesty," Conrad teased.

"Augh, you--You know what I mean!"

Conrad steered the black-haired youth into the courtyard. "I'm sure we can manage to draw out the process a little longer than planned."

"Perfect!"

--+--

Yuuri sat behind his desk, facing his compliment of advisors. Gwendal, Gunter and Wolfram to his left; Conrad and Murata to his right. By the dark clouds lingering on everyone's faces, Yuuri sort of wished he had been dragged back into lessons. "This is about the pigeons, right?" Might as well get the ball rolling. Good news or bad and it was probably bad he still wanted to know why a whole swarm of the messenger birds had descended on the castle during the inspection.

Gwendal, courting the wrinkles his mother feared, nodded. "The ambassador from Conansia Svelela has been recalled to his capital." Yuuri's eyes widened. "He will not be meeting with you."

Even he understood the cancellation wasn't something to be pleased about. "But I thought the old guys in Slavala " Gunter buried his face in his hands with a pathetic whimper. "um, I thought they wanted an alliance."

"It's a little more complicated than that, Shibuya." Yuuri glanced over to where Murata stood, arms crossed. "Up until a few days ago, they did."

"Well, what happened?" Yuuri pressed both hands on the top of his desk, trying to refrain from grabbing someone by the collar and shaking them. By proximity, it'd be Murata. "Is Greater Cimarron putting pressure on them? 'Cause they gotta know we'll help them out against Belar, if that's what it is." Yuuri sat up a little straighter, proud of his possible grasp on the situation. More than one person in the room had chided him more than once about not thinking "globally". "I can write those old guys a letter and promise them that." His handwriting had improved exponentially since he'd first arrived in Shin Makoku, this was something he could do.

The flicker of pride wavered as everyone exchanged glances and then looked back at him as one. Yuuri's fingers turned white against the desktop, trying to keep still. "_Well_?"

Gwendal sighed. "One of our spies has been discovered in the capital."

"Wait, we have _spies_ in Selayla?"

"We have spies everywhere," Gwendal snapped back; Yuuri thought he saw a vein starting to pulse in the man's forehead.

"As you can expect, Your Majesty," Gunter interjected, trying to pull them back on topic. "The Svelelaian Elders are not pleased."

"Of course they're not! How are we supposed to be friends with these people if we're sneaking around behind their backs?"

"Because we have to know what their intentions are, Yuuri!" Wolfram slammed his hand on the table, making Yuuri jump. "Most humans and Mazoku don't like each other! We have to know if they really mean what they say." Yuuri bristled. "Then why don't we just _ask_ them, and"

"Shibuya," Murata cut him off, voice the epitome of calm. And, as Yuuri knew from experience, it was incredibly hard to yell back at Murata or anyone when they were using that tone of voice. That was the tone that said "you're all being idiots, so shut up and listen". Of course, if Yuuri ever managed to master that tone, he'd probably just wind up saying that anyway. Sighing, Yuuri looked back over at his friend, who nodded his acknowledgement, and continued. "There are spies from every country in this world in our capital, right now." He held up a hand as Yuuri opened his mouth to protest. "As much as we'd like to do business your way, this time you're going to have to accept that this is just how the world works."

Feeling like he was back in class being scolded by a teacher, Yuuri sat back heavily in his chair, clearly still displeased but lacking an argument to refute what Murata what any of them, really had said. Not liking something didn't make it untrue. He raked both hands through his hair with a sigh. "So," he began, somewhat sullen but mostly tired. "What do we do about it?" He directed the question at Gwendal, who rubbed his forehead and gestured to Gunter. Yuuri felt a slight pang, as he knew full well Gwendal had little patience for him.

Gunter pulled a letter out of his robes and held it up. "The Elders are still open to negotiations," he said, offering the letter for Yuuri to take, which he did but didn't look at just yet. "However, they want you to come to them."

A surprised noise came from Wolfram's direction. The blond's eyebrows raised and then furrowed in confusion. "They want _Yuuri_ to go?"

"That is correct," Gunter replied. "Due to this breach of diplomacy, as they put it, they claim they would not be so inclined to believe an ambassador's word would have the full weight of the throne behind it."

Ever concerned with the king's pride, Wolfram wound up taking more offense to the comment than Yuuri himself did. "Ridiculous!" he snorted. "As if we'd be so stupid as to send the king to _negotiate_ without any promises in place already."

"Fine, I'll go."

The five men turned to look at him, with the reactions he expected. Conrad was smiling in that way that let Yuuri know he approved of the decision, or at least, his intent. Murata, too, though it was a little more wry and was accompanied by a shake of the head. Gwendal and Gunter clearly didn't like the idea; Gwendal's vein had calmed but there was a tic below his eye. And Wolfram. . . well, Wolfram stared at him as if he'd gone crazy. Exactly as he expected. Yuuri gave them a "what can you do" smile and spread his hands. "That's what they're expecting, isn't it? What Wolfram said?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, if everybody spies on everyone else, then this shouldn't be such a big deal. They just want a reason to back out."

Setting his hands on the desktop again, Yuuri shrugged. "Well, I won't give them one."

The knot in his chest loosened as Gunter broke into a smile. "Ah, well said, Your Majesty," he gushed, folding his hands together.

"You realize you'll have to go in with full ceremony," Gwendal said, folding his arms across his chest. "If you are going to call this bluff, it cannot be any other way. That will take at least a week to get together."

Yuuri felt his face scrunch into a frown. Figured. He was hoping he'd be able to leave sooner than that, and without all the silly rituals everyone around here but him seemed to love.

Wolfram shook his head. "This is still a terrible idea," he said quietly. "We're going in blind."

Yuuri hesitated, then shrugged again. "Well," he managed a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. "At least we won't have to sneak in this time. . ."

Gwendal glared at him and Yuuri scooted back in his chair with a little "meep".

--+--

"I suppose you are going as well?"

Murata lowered his gaze from the skylight to the shade of the Shinou that materialized on the dais. "Shibuya is going to need all the help he can get with those Elders," he replied. He gave the spirit a slight smile. "And no, you can't tag along." The familiar features turned into a slight pout, then shifted into a subtler expression of displeasure. Murata moved to sit on the center box, placing himself at the spirit's side. "What is it?"

"I do not like having you so far out of reach."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. . ." Murata gave him a pained look. "Earth is a good deal further from here than Conansia Svelela," he reminded the Shinou. "And this trip will be much shorter, comparatively."

The shade made a face at him. "There is no romance left in you whatsoever, is there?"

"There never was, as far as I remember."

The Shinou laughed and shook his head. "Perhaps it is best only one of us remembers things so perfectly."

Murata snorted softly and stood up. "I only remember the important things," he returned with a grin.

"I hardly see how you being a cold fish is important."

"Depends on who's remembering." Stretching his arms high above his head, Murata began the walk back down from the dais toward the doors to the Shrine's innermost room. He felt the Shinou's presence begin to disperse, widening into that ever-present thing hovering on his awareness, instead of a focused entity. He wondered how long the spirit would remain, and decided he would rather not know the answer.

When he reached the double doors, he turned halfway, hand resting on the knob while he looked behind him. "By the way," he said softly to the empty air. "You never were very good at hiding things from me." The presence began to gather, again, then suddenly dispersed completely, pulling Murata's mouth into a frown.

So that was how he was going to play this.

"Good night," he murmured as he let himself out without expecting a reply.

--+--

The Elders from Conansia Svelela sent back their acceptance of Shin Makoku's terms for the Maou's visit; so Gunter had proceeded to cancel all of Yuuri's activities save for meals, sleep, lessons and dire paperwork. Yuuri had, of course, been absolutely horrified at the idea of being locked in a room with Gunter for five whole days.

"He's not even letting me _run_," Yuuri complained at lunch on the second day, pushing food around on his plate without really seeing it. "He's insane. He has to be stopped."

"If you'd just get it right the first time, wimp, you wouldn't have to sit in there all day." Wolfram stabbed at his salad, just missing a tomato, and that seemed to irritated the blond even more.

Yuuri failed to notice this, and bristled at the comment. "We don't _have_ 'v' in Japanese, so how am I supposed to pronounce it right?" He pointed his spork at Wolfram and saw Conrad's attention sharpen. He immediately slammed the utensil back on the table. The hell if he was going to get inadvertently roped up in yet another cutlery-related fiasco. "And I'm still not up to date with all of our stupid customs, so how am I supposed to learn all of theirs in a week?"

"Not all of them, Your Majesty," Conrad piped up, sipping his water. "Just the important ones. Gunter actually said you're doing better than expected."

Yuuri regarded the soldier with flat, narrowed eyes. "He wasn't expecting much." Conrad gave him a faintly embarrassed smile that said he wasn't going to respond to that. Yuuri sighed and went back to poking his pot roast. "And stop calling me that, Conrad." He shot the man a glare. Again. "Everyone else does what I tell them to do, how come you don't?"

To his right, Greta giggled into her mashed potatoes. Conrad gave him that same embarrassed smile and diligently returned to his food. Yuuri started building a tower of his potatoes and meat, which set his daughter bubbling over with mirth.

"Did you not like your lunch, Your Majesty?" Yuuri startled and knocked the tower over when Doria suddenly appeared at his elbow. Greta hiccupped and giggled harder.

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck. "Ahh, no, that's not it," he said, laughing weakly. "I'm just not that hungry today." Not with the prospect of sitting inside with an etiquette book for the rest of a gorgeous afternoon. He caught Conrad looking at him as Doria took the plate away, and blinked. "Do I have something on my face?"

Conrad tilted his head to one side. "Are you feeling well, Yuuri?"

Looking longingly out the huge bay window, Yuuri wondered if he could go outside if he pretended to be sick. But then they'd call Gisela and she wouldn't find anything wrong and he'd get in trouble and feel bad for wasting her time. Playing hooky was hard when your doctor had magical powers. He sighed. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He pushed back from the table and stepped over to ruffle Greta's hair. "I should probably get back to Gunter before he sends Dakaskos looking for me." He bent down so Greta could kiss his cheek, and saw Conrad get up.

"I'll walk you over."

Yuuri made a face and waved a hand. "Finish eating, I can get there all right." He looked down and winked at Greta. "Besides, someone has to keep Wolfram from telling Greta I'm a wimp and everything."

"You _are_."

"Am not!" He grinned as Greta laughed and then he headed for the door. "See you guys at dinner." He noticed Conrad had yet to sit, but since the man had not insisted on coming, he let the subject drop. He leaned against the large heavy door once it closed behind him, sighing as he took a quiet moment in the hallway. He'd take the long route back, along one of the courtyards. Conrad might have gone that way with him, but he might have taken the short way, and Yuuri didn't feel like arguing. He was restless enough as it was. Of course, he blamed that on everyone not-so-subtly hinting that he was going to make a mess of the upcoming negotiations, even though he had done perfectly fine other times, under nastier circumstances.

A warm breeze tickled his cheek as he walked past the open space; he stuck an arm out into the sunshine and smiled a little, though it faded when he turned back into the enclosed corridor. He felt cooped-up and tired; even Conrad was badgering him. So what if he wasn't hungry, who would be under this much pressure? He wondered if he could get away with hiding on the roof for an hour or two. Gunter would probably mobilize the army...

"Ah! Your Majesty!" Yuuri looked up to see Dakaskos jogging toward him. "I was just coming to get you." Yuuri walked right past him, gritting his teeth. "Um... Your Majesty?"

"I'm already here, aren't I?" Yuuri snapped. "Gunter didn't need to send anyone. What's he think I'm going to do, skip?"

Dakaskos poked his two index fingers together, eyes looking at the floor. "Of, of course not, Your Majesty..." he mumbled. "His Excellency just wanted to make sure you were okay..."

Yuuri snorted. "I don't think anything's going to happen to me between the dining room and my office." Turning another corner, Yuuri walked to the second last door and let himself in, still rankled over Gunter's blatant lack of faith in him. The seneschal glanced up as he entered, and smiled.

"Ah, there you are, Your Majesty," he said as he opened the same book they'd been working from since sunrise. "I'm glad Dakaskos found you."

A tic not unlike one of Gwendal's best formed beneath Yuuri's eye. "I was already on my way," he grit out, and crossed the room to his desk.

Gunter's smile widened. "Ah, wonderful," he breathed. "Your Majesty is understanding the value of these lessons..."

Not really, Yuuri thought, tuning Gunter out. However, he kept that to himself. He stifled a yawn behind his hand and picked up his quill, twirling it idly between his fingers. It was going to be a long afternoon.

--+--

"He didn't eat anything at dinner, either." Wolfram leaned against the window sill, arms crossed over his chest. Conrad nodded, fairly sure of that himself, but appreciating confirmation. His younger brother's frown deepened. "It's not like him," he said quietly. "Even when he's under stress, he eats like a pig. And what was all that in front of Greta?" the blond demanded. "Fine example he's showing her, playing with his food."

Conrad scanned a handful of reports, inventories and equipment requests, splitting his attention between his king and the rest of his work, as he was so good at doing. "Mm. I agree," he said as he signed one of his Lieutenant's R&R request. The interaction between Yuuri and Greta bothered him less than the lack of appetite -- he made a mental note to ask Gunter if Yuuri had had any breakfast that morning. However, he judged it best not to argue with Wolfram when he was in this sort of mood. "But perhaps you shouldn't mention it to him tonight." He heard a derisive snort and glanced up.

Wolfram's lips pursed and his eyebrows had lifted, an expression of haughty distaste. "I won't have a chance anyway," he said, tone matching his expression. "I've gone back to my own room for the time being."

He wondered what -- short of a previously unknown, spectacular fight between the two -- could possibly drive his brother out of Yuuri's bed. "Oh?" He asked, cautiously. Wolfram rarely confided in anyone, least of all him; to encourage him, Conrad knew he had to handle him as delicately as he could. "Has His Majesty done something?"

He remained patient and calm as Wolfram eyed him for a long moment, then made a little 'harumph' sound. "Of course. I can't be expected to sleep well or at all with all his tossing and turning and kicking. I was starting to get circles under my eyes."

Conrad made a supportive, agreeable sound and then frowned. Perhaps he would speak to Gunter in the morning; surely the man could excuse Yuuri for a visit to Gisela. General concern for Yuuri's well-being aside, they couldn't afford for him to be sick right now. "Mm," he said as he wrote a quick note on a scrap piece of paper. "Maybe it's best, then, that you get your rest."

"You think something's wrong, don't you," Wolfram asked after a moment. Conrad looked up from his paper.

"Not exactly," he replied with a smile. "But it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

Wolfram pursed his lips again. "You'd better not keep anything from me, Weller." He stood up straight, letting his arms drop to his sides. "If you do, I'll kick your ass."

Conrad laughed. "I hope you would."


	2. Chapter 2

**May You Live in Interesting Times**

**Part Two**

An element of being a good soldier involved being able to use time efficiently, and do everything as quickly as possible. Gisela had this element in spades, and currently, it was making Yuuri very sad. But, at least he had been able to convince Conrad that sitting in one of Cecilie's sunny gardens would be just as beneficial as being up in the infirmary. Conrad had just smiled and nodded, and the healer had come down.

Her glowing hand passed over his head, arms and back, sending little shivers all over his body. He wondered if his own healing abilities did that to people, too. Gisela caught his eye and smiled, and he looked up at the sky happily. "How are your lessons coming, Your Majesty?"

Yuuri made a face. "Okay, I guess. I finally got the welcome dance down."

He heard Wolfram snort behind him. Gisela just nodded. "My father says you're making a lot of progress." She knelt down to wave her hand over his legs. "Anything hurt here?"

"Hm? Oh, no," Yuuri replied. "Nothing really is wrong, though," he said. "I'll be fine once all this stress is gone."

Wolfram made another derisive noise. "It's not stress, wimp."

Yuuri turned and glared at him. "It _is_," he insisted. "You all are acting like I'm going to completely screw this up. Well, I'm not." He frowned, running a hand through his hair. His mood darkened as he watched Conrad and Wolfram exchange a glance.

Conrad, as usual, stepped in to placate him. "No one thinks that, Yuuri," he said. "Everyone's just a little concerned."

"Why?" His voice rose; he didn't care. "How is this any worse than having to make a treaty with Caloria in the middle of a wasteland while that idiot Ponytail tried to kill everyone?! I did that just fine and without help from anyone! What about Francia? There's no army breathing down my neck this time! There's no box! I didn't need any stupid dances or handshakes or a convoy or fancy uniforms, I just talked to them!"

He'd started shouting. "If I didn't know you'd all just follow me anyway, I'd go by myself!" He pounded on the table with a closed fist, breathing heavily. This was all so stupid. At least he had the satisfaction of seeing Wolfram, Conrad and Gisela completely poleaxed.

"Your Majesty..." Gisela began, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but something made her decide against it.

Yuuri sighed. "Is there anything wrong with me?" he asked, in a clipped tone.

"No," she replied slowly. "I don't see any sign of illness."

"Thanks." He shot a look at his two handlers, as if to say "I told you so". Conrad's expression had closed off, brow faintly creased, while Wolfram seemed to be barely restraining himself from launching into a rant. Yuuri ignored it and rose from his chair. "I've got to get back to Gunter," he said bitterly, and stalked toward the castle.

--+--

"And Gisela said he's not sick?"

Sir Weller nodded, watching him swing his legs a little from his seat on top of "The End of the Land". Murata frowned. "Well, Shibuya can have a temper," he allowed, more to think aloud than to give the soldier any real answer. "Perhaps it would help if Sir von Kleist gives him a break... there'll be time for lessons along the way, won't there?"

"Probably not as much as Gunter would like," Conrad replied. "But yes. The departure date has been stepped up, as well."

Murata hopped down off the box. "I'm sure that will make him happy. The sooner we get this over with, the better." He moved toward the doors, with Conrad falling in behind him. Murata considered suggesting that Sir Weller take Shibuya out to play catch, but thought better of it. The man was smart enough to know what would and would not calm their king.

"Wolfram mentioned he's not sleeping well."

Murata whirled around. "Really." His eyes inadvertently flicked to the semicircle of boxes on the dais. "Well, no wonder he's so cranky," he added, inwardly chiding himself for letting a mere _speculation_ bother him so much. He turned back around and left the room, remaining quiet as he and Sir Weller mounted their horses.

"Is there anything you know of that might be affecting Yuuri, Your Highness?"

Murata couldn't help but smile at the phrasing. Sir Weller knew better than to ask him outright if he thought anything was wrong, and if so, please elaborate. "It could be exactly what he says it is," Murata said. "Sir von Kleist is being rather stringent this time. Shibuya isn't exactly used to being denied his freedom." Sadly, only Shibuya himself seemed not to realize how effective an armor cultural knowledge could be. The grand and glorious nation of Conansia Svelera ranked only above Greater Cimarron in its opinion of the Mazoku and their kingdom. The dislike had only deepened after the search for the mateki had flooded large sections of the desert. No doubt someone in the castle was furious with Sir von Voltaire's intelligence personnel for destroying months of diplomatic work.

"Honestly, Sir Weller, if he isn't sick and he isn't having a stress-related breakdown, I'm not sure what it could be." Maybe actually seeing Shibuya for the first time in four days would tip Murata off to something else, but for now, he was inclined to believe the king just needed a break. "I can vouch he's a terrible student."

The soldier shook his head with a slight smile. "I think that goes without saying, Your Highness."

They entered the castle grounds amid a flurry of activity; an assembly line of soldiers worked to fill supply carts with food, water and camping supplies while the royal carriage had been set upon by no fewer than four craftsmen, all working to polish and paint and ensure it fit for travel across the desert. Murata glanced at his escort. "I thought we were going on horseback."

Sir Weller nodded. "We are, but only until we get to the city. We'd rather not risk someone taking a lucky shot at Yuuri, or you, for that matter."

"And traveling incognito does sort of defeat the purpose," Murata agreed as he dismounted. Stretching, he looked up at the parapets and the clouds floating lazily by. A handful of birds circled the towers, calling out their usual predictions of doom, before flapping off to another part of the capital. Murata noted more of them than usual, but refrained from reading too much into it. Superstitions had their place, more often than not as persuasive resources than anything to be believed in. He took a nice, deep breath and glanced at Sir Weller. "Shall we go liberate Shibuya from his afternoon lessons?"

The man raised an amused eyebrow and nodded off to their left. "We may not need to."

Over by one of the more laden carts, Sir von Kleist was speaking animatedly with a handful of soldiers. "Indeed," Murata replied with a grin. He cupped a hand against the side of his mouth and waved his free arm. "Sir von Kleist, hello!" Beside him, Sir Weller snorted and Murata grinned wider, as the lavender-haired man looked up with an adoring expression.

"Oh, Your Highness!" he called as he dismissed the soldiers and sent them back to whatever they were supposed to be doing. "Good afternoon!"

Murata clasped his hands behind his back as Sir von Kleist hurried over and gave a slight bow. "No more lessons today?" he asked.

The seneschal pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "You'll see when you get up there," he replied. "There are enough things to do before we leave tomorrow that I can spend my time elsewhere."

Murata and Sir Weller exchanged a glance, and Murata saw his own surprise mirrored back at him. "Please tell me Shibuya didn't blow up his office..."

Sir von Kleist shook his head. "Oh, heavens no, Your Highness," he replied quickly. "But please, if you'll excuse me." Murata looked over at Sir Weller who shrugged, and they made their way up into the castle.

--+--

Yuuri was fast asleep at his desk, quill just barely still in his hand, his cheek planted firmly in an inkblot.

Conrad wasn't sure whether to find the tableau funny or very sad.

From the strangled noise that came from beside him, neither was Murata. However, from the way the Sage struggled to keep his mouth a straight line, Conrad assumed he leaned rather heavily toward laughing. "Oh, Shibuya... no wonder Sir von Kleist gave up on you." he murmured in a choked voice, shaking his head. They stepped into the office and made their way up to the desk; Conrad circled behind Yuuri's chair to begin the careful process of waking what was sure to be an even crankier crankier-than-usual king.

Murata perched on the front of the desk, avoiding the ink as he looked down at Yuuri's face. Conrad gave him a moment, seeing the way the Sage's dark eyes moved quickly over his friend's face; Conrad had to remember that his near-constant presence accustomed him to the dark circles that had formed beneath Yuuri's eyes and how pale he had become. Despite the gentlest of prompts from him, and much angrier threats from Wolfram, Yuuri still refused to eat. Even Greta had noticed, and worried about her father. Murata's lips twisted into a frown, dark eyes narrowing for a moment before he looked up at Conrad with a sort of sad expression. "It's almost a shame to wake him up," he said, glancing back down. Not for the first time, Conrad wondered what was going on in the Sage's head.

"Perhaps we can appeal to his vanity," Conrad said after a moment, starting to shake Yuuri's shoulder gently.

That made Murata laugh. "But who's going to take the risk and call him 'ink-face' first?" He leaned forward, and poked Yuuri in the other shoulder. "Shibuya, wakey wakey..."

Between being poked, shaken and called, the king didn't take long to wake up. And the first movement was to bat at Murata's hand with an angry sound. Conrad frowned, despite wondering if it wasn't justified. "Your Majesty," he called softly. "Please don't stab His Highness' hand with your quill."

Yuuri lifted his head a little and looked around blearily. "Cn...rd?" Conrad helped him sit up. Yuuri rubbed his face, smearing ink dangerously close to his eye and mouth and both Conrad and Murata winced. "Whatimesit?"

"Just after two, Yuuri."

Yuuri blinked slowly, then his eyes widened. "You're kidding... it was just noon a minute ago!"

"Congratulations, Shibuya," Murata said with a grin. "Sir von Kleist is in retreat."

Conrad tried not to laugh as Yuuri -- the side of his face almost completely covered in ink -- attempted to process first that the Sage was in the room and secondly, what his friend meant. "Oh. Wait," he brightened. "Does that mean I'm done?"

"Until we get under way," Conrad replied, chuckling despite himself at how desperately crestfallen the young man looked.

Murata grinned. "Don't worry, I volunteered to take over for Sir von Kleist." Conrad glanced at the Sage, amused and wondering when, exactly, Gunter was going to be informed of this.

Yuuri's eyes closed and he grinned tiredly as he moved to pillow his head in his arms. "Oh thank god..."

"Hey, Shibuya."

The move toward more sleep paused as Yuuri looked up into a now much more serious face. "Hm?"

"You look awful, you know."

The expression on Yuuri's face darkened as he sat back up. "Not you too."

Murata dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over, gesturing at Yuuri's hand and then at his face. A frustrated sound came from low in Yuuri's throat as he finally noticed the state of his blotter and hand. He began scrubbing at his face with the handkerchief. The Sage turned slightly, sitting cross-legged on top of the desk, just off Yuuri's right side. His eyes flicked toward Conrad as he backed up to lean against the wall, guiltily relieved to let the Sage go a round with their stubborn, stubborn king. Murata nodded and turned his attention back to Yuuri. "What am I always telling you, Shibuya?" he asked softly, propping his elbows on his knees and chin on his hands.

Yuuri kept working at an ink stain on his hand. "To get used to people protecting me."

"Mm." Murata nodded. "Exactly. And sometimes, being protected means being taken care of."

Conrad watched Yuuri snort, eyes still glued to the handkerchief, but also noticed how the dangerous set of his jaw started to relax. Yuuri was still sulking, without a doubt, but the risk of an outburst like yesterday's seemed less and less likely. "I'm _fine_," he groused.

"I know."

Yuuri looked up hesitantly, eyes still narrowed. "What?"

Murata shrugged. "I know you are," he said simply. "Or if you're not, you will be." He braced his forearms on his knees, leaning forward in an conspiratorial way. "But everyone's just worried about you."

"Worried I'll screw up--"

"Worried about _you_," Murata repeated firmly. "And seeing you like this, I can't say I blame them." Murata sat up straighter. "So, what do you think _I_ think you should do?"

Yuuri's gaze dropped back down to the ink on his hand. "Let them take care of me."

"Bingo."

Yuuri snorted and shook his head, dabbing at his hand, though the handkerchief seemed already completely saturated. "What about you?" He asked after a moment, and Conrad blinked, brow furrowing, as he noticed Yuuri's switch from Shin Makoku's language into Japanese.

Murata made no move to look his way, but had not forgotten they had an audience. He paused a half second before replying in kind. "Me?"

"Are you worried about me?"

"Mm, a little," the Sage replied, and Yuuri's expression softened. Murata sighed dramatically, and moved to hop off the desk. "Your mother will kill me if she finds out I let you get any skinnier!" He switched back to Shin Makoku's language. "And Sir Weller won't do anything to stop her."

Yuuri glanced over at Conrad, as if remembering he was there. Conrad inwardly frowned, but let his usual smile emerge on his face. "She's too strong for me, Your Highness."

Murata grinned widely at Yuuri as the king looked between him and Conrad. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, fine! You guys win! Just stop badgering me!"


	3. Chapter 3

**May You Live in Interesting Times**

**Part Three**

Greta sat on the bed, swinging her feet idly as she watched her father walk from one side of the room to the next, packing his trunk for the journey. She smiled widely when Yuuri caught her looking and he chuckled. However, he couldn't fail to notice how tightly she was clutching the hand-knit stuffed kitten -- or whatever it was supposed to be -- in her small hands. Despite what people around him assumed, he had gained a measure of perceptiveness over the past year. Yuuri set the handful of socks in the open trunk's lid and came to sit beside her. "Do you and Anissina have plans while we're gone?" he asked as he pulled her onto his lap.

Her eyes brightened as she nodded eagerly. "Anissina said she's going to read her new story, and we're going to try and build an invention for the maids." Greta beamed. "Anissina called it 'Mr. Dust-Catcher-and-Corner-Cleaner'!"

Yuuri tried valiantly not to twitch. "Oh, really...?" He made a mental note to give one of the maids a head's up as to Anissina's plans for them. "Well, just remember what I said about trying her inventions." He wagged his finger playfully.

"Wait until I'm older," she replied with a giggle. Yuuri couldn't help but smile. Despite his desire to protect her, he was almost looking forward to the day when she was old enough to accompany him on trips; maybe even to Earth, someday, to meet her grandparents. He knew his mother would be delighted to have an actual girl to play with, at long last.

He rested his cheek on her hair for a moment as she leaned against his shoulder; the kitten now held much more loosely in her hands. "I did want to ask you something," he began carefully, lifting his head and looking down at her more seriously. "I'm going to be seeing your uncle while we're there." Greta's eyes widened and her little forehead furrowed with worry. Yuuri smiled a little, patting her hand. "Do you want to send him a message? I can help you write a letter, if you want."

When she looked down at her hands without a change in expression, Yuuri started to wonder if his question had been a bad idea. Greta was very happy in Shin Makoku, with him and Wolfram and everyone else. What he knew about her childhood in Zoracea and then in Conansia Svelera broke his heart; personally, he had a few things to say to the Svelerian king about his treatment of Greta that would undoubtedly bring out his less-than-forgiving side... but the man was Greta's uncle. And if a treaty and peace came into being between Shin Makoku and Svelera, maybe they could fix things. It was worth a try, but only if Greta herself wanted it.

Yuuri gave his daughter a tight hug. "You don't have to," he said with a little smile. "It's okay."

Greta looked up at him hesitantly, her bottom lip red from where her teeth had been. "Yuuri... do you think he hates me?"

"No." His said firmly, and found he actually believed it. "No one could be so bad that they could hate you." He grinned and ruffled her hair. "Look at Gwendal," he said brightly. "He loves you a whole lot, and you know how _he_ is." His heart lifted when she giggled, doubts buried for now, if he couldn't help her banish them completely.

After she'd calmed down, Yuuri nudged her off his lap so he could continue packing. "When I get back, we'll go on a picnic with Conrad and Wolfram, okay?"

She nodded and clapped her hands. "Can we play catch-ball, too?"

Yuuri laughed. "Sure! You're going to be Shin Makoku's star catcher some day, right?"

"Just like Yuuri!"

They looked up as a knock sounded on the door. Had to be Conrad; he was the only one who ever knocked without immediately barging in after. "Yeah?"

Sure enough, a brown-haired head poked in and around the door. "We're leaving within the hour," he said with a smile. Yuuri felt both relief and an excited thrill shoot through him. Finally.

"Are you all packed, Your Majesty?" Yuuri snorted and his advisor failed to hide a grin -- or didn't bother trying.

"Almost," he replied, tossing the socks into the trunk proper, along with a few toiletries and his official epaulet-thing. He'd have to change before they arrived in the Svelerian capital city, but nothing short of a death threat would get him out of his travel clothes before that.

Greta tugged on his sleeve as he ran through his mental packing list, and he looked down to see her holding up the stuffed kitten. "Here," she said, almost shyly. Yuuri blinked.

"Greta, I already have a lucky charm from you." He patted his hip where Morgif usually hung. "I'll be just fine."

She shook her head and shifted from foot to foot. "For my uncle."

Yuuri took the gift from her with an almost unnecessary solemnity and tucked it carefully into his trunk, beside his formal wear. Then he ruffled her hair and gave her a very proud smile. Her hand curled around his free one as he turned toward Conrad, who watched them with a smile of his own, despite not knowing exactly what had happened. "All set," Yuuri said as he and Greta moved to join him. Conrad gestured to someone outside the door, and a pair of guards came in to take the trunk down to the supply train.

When said cluster of carts and wagons came into view, Yuuri shook his head. "Looks like we're setting up to invade," he muttered, looking over the no fewer than six carts, in addition to the carriage and a small cavalry's worth of horses. "Do we really need all that?"

"Mm," Conrad replied. "Gwendal insisted. It doesn't hurt to go over-prepared, Yuuri. We can't be sure how long the negotiations will take."

Yuuri eyed Greta and shot Conrad a _look_. "Not too long," he said pointedly. "We've got a picnic to go to when we get back." His chest loosened as Greta's worried expression melted into a wide smile.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

They descended into the thick of the activity, and Yuuri had to put out an all-points "at ease" bulletin before all the stopping and saluting made them late. As much as he questioned the need for all the personnel and supplies, something about all the hustling about stirred a pleasant excitement within him. Like that mad scramble between innings when the teams changed places and he had to hurry in from being left on base in order to get all his gear on. He smiled as the soldiers, guards and maids finished the preparations, more relaxed than he'd been in days.

"Yuuri, it's Ao!" Greta pointed and held his hand tightly. Yuuri grinned as his horse came into view, the first in a string of move-out signs. He turned and dropped down on one knee, putting himself face-to-face with his daughter and holding his arms out for a hug. She held on very tightly, as she always did, and he rubbed her back a little. "Come back soon?"

"I will." He pulled back as Cheri approached, ready to take Greta back to the steps. "I'll bring you a souvenir," he called, and she laughed. He watched Wolfram approach the pair and say his goodbyes to Greta as well.

"Your Majesty, it's time."

He turned to see Gunter walk his horse over to where he and Conrad still stood, Morgif in hand. The sword made kissing faces at him as he took it. Off to his right, Hube, Gwendal and Murata all waited for him on their mounts. "Okay, everyone!" he crowed as he strapped himself into Morgif's harness and swung up onto his horse. "Let's get this show on the road!"

--+--

His Highness only succeeded in wresting half of the lessons away from Gunter. The seneschal insisted on conducting the etiquette portions, letting Murata handle the history, what little of it there was to cover. Wolfram sipped the strong tea he'd been given as they stopped for the evening meal, and listened to Yuuri gripe about forgetting little details. Personally, he agreed with his fiance; Yuuri could get a lot more done by being his normal, direct self than by getting tangled up in protocol. However, their own biases aside, at least being educated in the human country's culture was how things should be. He didn't expect the humans to have any knowledge of Mazoku customs; their diligence could give them an edge.

"Don't get too comfortable, Wolfram." The blond looked up at Gwendal.

"Are we going to press on tonight, Brother?" he asked, scanning the perfectly cloudless and unending sky as twilight began to creep along the eastern edge. They had crossed into Conansia Svelera a few hours before; the scenery had gradually shifted from forest to plain to desert over the course of the day. The soldiers had begun to set up camp; putting up large tents for the officers and bedrolls for the lower ranks. Cooking fires were gradually being converted into the night's heat sources and watch posts.

"There's no need to rush, no matter what His Majesty wants," came the gruff reply.

Wolfram felt a hopeless sort of smile spread over his face, but refrained from commenting. Not that Gwendal needed his input on whether to move out or not. "Do you think we'll be all right, when we get there?"

Gwendal glanced down at him, expression tightening, then softening just slightly. Wolfram sat up a little straighter, hoping the shift meant approval rather than dread. "I doubt they will be so stupid as to invite an international incident," he said, finally. "However, it seems only Yuuri himself will be able to make this work."

The smile turned into a resigned purse of his lips and Wolfram nodded slowly. He took a deep breath, shook his head and rose to his feet. "If anyone can, he will." Trust him, he thought. Like you couldn't on Makadira. No matter what his personal feelings about this trip were. Yuuri made miracles happen.

Gwendal sighed and nodded reluctantly, then continued on his way to where Yuuri was attempting to perform the Sveleraian welcome dance with Gunter hounding him and His Highness trying to make him laugh. What an odd group they all were. Wolfram set his tea down and hurried after his brother. Despite the relative light in the sky, the Maou's fire pit had already been blazing for some time, as a barrier against the oncoming night's chill. Their tent circle had been put together first; Yuuri had, at his request, been given a tent to himself. Wolfram bunked with His Highness, Conrad with Gunter, and Hube with Gwendal in three other tents. Wolfram hated the arrangement, but couldn't find it in him to argue with Yuuri any more over it.

Everyone paused and looked up at Gwendal, whose expression must have been frightening enough to quiet even the Sage.

Yuuri tilted his head to one side, arms still holding the ridiculous position twisted over his head. "Gwendal?"

The man shot Gunter a reproving glance. "There are better things he could be doing than this." Blue eyes swung toward the Sage, expression unchanging. Gwendal had never had difficulty scolding his superiors and wouldn't be starting any time soon. "Have you discussed the negotiations with him?"

"Hey, I'm right _here_." Yuuri groused, forestalling any reply from either of his self-appointed tutors. The king winced when Gwendal's attention changed its target, and Wolfram tried to suppress a smile and failed; thankfully, Gwendal didn't seem too interested in him at the moment. "Um... and no, not yet."

The tic started up. "What are you asking for in the treaty?" Gwendal snapped, startling Yuuri enough to get him to lower his arms.

"Um, the same things we always ask for?" Yuuri managed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mutual protection and trade? Fair treatment of any half-Mazoku or people who marry Mazoku." That answer seemed more confident than the other two. Wolfram shivered, remembering the houseki mining camps; he'd known such things existed for decades, but only after meeting Yuuri did they bother him even a little bit. He looked around the camp, seeking out sign of his other brother and saw him making his way through the crowd, smiling as always as he chatted with some of Gwendal's men. Conrad looked up to meet Wolfram's eyes, and Wolfram looked away quickly, though still pleased to have had the attention.

He resumed watching Gwendal grill Yuuri, and didn't have to look to his left when Conrad came up beside him. Yuuri, however, did; he grinned and nodded when he noticed his guardian. "Everything okay, Conrad?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty," Gwendal barked, recapturing Yuuri's attention. "We do not have time for play; we will reach the capital city in two days."

"Gwendal, really." Gunter stepped up. "This is hardly play."

"It is hardly the priority." Gwendal seemed to fix his ire on the two black-haired boys in their group. "I would have expected at least one of you to know that."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Yuuri sulked, raking his hands through his hair. "I thought all this cultural stuff was important!"

More than one person in the group kept their lips firmly sealed against contradicting the king on that point. Gwendal folded his arms over his chest. "What are you prepared to give up in order to have peace with Svelera?"

Yuuri faltered and Wolfram glanced up at his brother, wondering if there was more to this discussion than they were saying. "Um... well, we can trade with them... help them out if anyone attacks them--"

"That falls under mutual protection," Gwendal replied. "Hardly a sacrifice."

Wolfram exchanged a glance with Conrad as Yuuri huffed out a loud sigh. He followed his brother's gaze as it settled on His Highness, who seemed for the moment to be content to say nothing. As if sensing their gaze, Murata looked over and then shrugged.

"I dunno," Yuuri said finally. "Maybe they'll ask for something, so I don't have to think of one."

A collective sigh met his answer, accompanied by the Sage smacking his own forehead and Gwendal's lips tightening dangerously. "Yuuri," he said slowly, tone very flat. "Think of something."

"You've always got to have a counter-offer, Shibuya," Murata added. "Even if you don't mind giving them what they ask for."

Yuuri rubbed his forehead and flopped down onto one of the benches by the fire. "They... um... the mine metals other than houseki, right? Maybe we can promise to buy only from them, or something."

Wolfram let out a slow breath as Gwendal's tic eased. "Sveleraian ore is not inexpensive. Is overpaying worth what you want to gain?"

"Absolutely." Yuuri met Gwendal's eyes straight on, shoulders squared. "I don't want them sending anymore women and children to those mines."

Gwendal nodded with a soft snort. "Very well." Yuuri immediately brightened.

Wolfram watched him with no small amount of pride and crossed the circle to sit down beside him. "You're going to bankrupt us, wimp."

"Don't call me that!"

The tension eased measurably around the circle, and then Yuuri sat up straighter. "Hey, Gwendal," he began as he looked across the fire toward the older man. "I was wondering... can we get our spy back?"

Gwendal's expression hardened. "I would forget about him, if I were you, Your Majesty."

Even Wolfram winced at his brother's harsh words; he also inwardly cringed. If anything would get Yuuri worked up about something, it was telling him he couldn't do it. "Brother..."

"Why?" Yuuri demanded, brow furrowing. "He's got family in Shin Makoku or something, doesn't he? Friends?" The king made a frustrated sound. "They're probably worried about him."

"He knew the risks when he took the position."

Dark eyes widened, and Yuuri leaped to his feet. "You're not _serious_. We can't just leave him there because he was doing what we told him to!"

Gwendal's face remained impassive. "He was caught."

"WHAT?!"

"Your Majesty," Gunter broke in, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "It is difficult, but we must allow Conansia Svelera to enforce its laws. Espionage is a capital offense."

"But--"

Murata adjusted his glasses. "We may be able to plead for clemency as a show of good will," he said softly. "A commutation to a life sentence instead of an execution."

Yuuri whipped his head around to stare at the Sage, whose glasses had caught the light and become disturbingly opaque. "How the hell can you be so calm about this?" he growled. He snapped his head back toward Gwendal. "This is a man's _life_ we're talking about! He wouldn't have even been there if we hadn't sent him!"

"Yuuri, it isn't that simple." Conrad, once again, attempted to be the voice of reason. Though the way Yuuri had begun to twitch, Wolfram began to suspect he wouldn't succeed. Gingerly, Wolfram touched his fiance's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off.

"What if it were Yozak, Conrad?!" he shouted, fists clenched tightly. Conrad's eyes widened a tiny bit, the only sign that the question had caught him off-guard. "Huh? Would you just leave him there to die?! Would you?!"

"Yuuri, calm _down_."

"It can't be Yozak, Yuuri," Wolfram said hurriedly. "I'm sure Brother would tell us if it were..." he shot Gwendal a pleading look, then felt a lump settle in his stomach as Gwendal showed no inclination to say anything. "Brother?"

"Who it is does not matter," was Gwendal's stony reply. "A king cannot play favorites, and he certainly cannot ask a hostile nation to make exceptions when his citizens have broken laws. Whatever the reason."

Yuuri's jaw hung open as he blanched, shaking with fury. Wolfram took a step closer, bracing himself for the emergence of Yuuri's maryoku. From the looks on Conrad and Gunter's faces, they expected the same.

But Yuuri just shut his mouth with a loud _clack_. "I am _not_ leaving him behind." Wolfram shivered at the barely-controlled anger in Yuuri's voice. Suddenly, the king whirled around and stalked off into the camp. Wolfram let out a surprised sound and moved to follow him, only to feel a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave him be, Sir von Bielefeld."

"But Your Highness--"

"He'll be all right." Murata smiled ruefully. "Let him go blow off some steam; he'll be back." The Sage reclaimed his hand and glanced off in the direction Yuuri had gone. "Just be here when he returns. I think he'll appreciate that."

"Your Highness..." Wolfram blinked at the Sage, then snorted, feeling himself blush. "Too right he will."

--+--

Despite the fear it might anger the boy further, Conrad had sent Hube to watch over Yuuri after an hour passed with no sign of him. Though only a few miles from the Shin Makoku-Conansia Svelera border, safety was always a concern. Yuuri did return several hours later, covered in sand and sullen. He didn't speak to any of them, not even Wolfram, who had done his best to elicit a response. Conrad kept his distance, looking after his men while keeping Yuuri's tent in sight. Once the king had returned from his cool-down safely, the rest of his circle retired for the night, or at least to their tents, and hoped for a calmer morning.

Conrad rose at dawn, as he always did, and dressed quickly; he checked in with the lieutenants who supervised camp break down, and received a message from a young private: the king asks that you come to the paddock, when you have a moment. Conrad being who he was, went immediately.

Yuuri dozed against the fence, turned inward to face the horses as they roamed the perimeter of the fence. Conrad touched his shoulder and he startled. "You wanted to see me, Yuuri?" No teasing games this morning, not when he didn't know the state of the boy's mood.

Said boy rubbed his face with both hands, yawning hugely, before briefly looking up at him. His eyes quickly focused on the patch of dirt just on the other side of the fence. "I'm sorry," he mumbled with a sigh. "About last night. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

Conrad's fingers carded through Yuuri's hair gently, slow and steady, as if currying one of the colts in the paddock. "It's all right," he replied. "It's not an easy situation."

A frustrated sound wormed its way out of Yuuri's throat. "It's so unfair," he said, voice tight. "That guy has people back home who miss him." He glanced up at Conrad, again, quickly, then back down. "And if it is Yozak... well... that's just unacceptable. I don't care what Gwendal says."

"Gwendal is doing what he thinks is best."

"No one should have to die for it, though," Yuuri said firmly. Conrad let his hand fall to the center of the boy's shoulder blades. "I can't let that happen... I just don't know what I can do about it."

"Did you sleep at all last night, Yuuri?"

Yuuri stepped away from his hand, brow creased. "I don't need this right now, Conrad." He raked a hand through his hair and turned to return to camp. "I just wanted to apologize. Let's go get breakfast, okay?"

The company broke camp and moved out before the sun peeked over the horizon. Conrad and Wolfram rode on either side of Yuuri, while a handful of Gwendal's men took point and flank escort duties. His Highness rode directly behind Yuuri, with Gunter and Hube flanking him. Gwendal rode up and down the column, inspecting their progress. Behind them, with the supply carts, they could hear the soldiers chatting and laughing as they went; but in contrast to the previous day's ride, the head of the column remained more or less quiet, aside from the occasional status report.

Not even Gunter complained the lack of preparation being conducted.

They stopped to rest the horses in mid-afternoon, after the sun had passed out of its zenith. The soldiers erected one tent for the king to rest under, which they set up as a sort of command station. Gwendal and Hube poured over their route map, consulting Gunter every handful of minutes. Yuuri seemed to listen with half an ear, propping his head on his hand as he sprawled in a chair.

"With the progress we're making, we'll be in the capital by tomorrow night," Hube said quietly. "The next morning at the latest."

Gwendal traced along the map. "We should be able to stop at one of these towns to resupply." His fingers moved down the route toward their destination. "Our escorts can probably quarter somewhere near here."

"Provided our reception is a good one," Gunter interjected, eying the map.

"Hey, Hube..." The three men looked up from the table, over toward Yuuri's chair. By the expressions on their faces, they didn't seem to expect to find the king awake. "Is there any place nice to visit here? Anywhere you really liked?"

Conrad smiled at the question; so like Yuuri and so completely unrelated to the topic at hand. Also, very much like the boy. Hube blinked more than once, puzzling out the question. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied haltingly. "Nicola and I would sometimes meet in the public garden near the castle. It was very beautiful there."

Yuuri grinned tiredly. "Nice. Maybe you could give us a tour?"

Again, Hube didn't seem to know what to do with the particular thread of conversation. "Of... of course, Your Majesty."

"Sightseeing can wait until after the treaty is signed," Gwendal said, mildly, turning back to the map.

"Yeah, yeah... " Yuuri replied, pushing himself out of his chair with a huge stretch. He paused and looked toward the left side of the tent as sounds of shouting made their way to their ears. "What's going on?"

Immediately, Gwendal, Hube and Gunter left, leaving Yuuri and Murata in Conrad and Wolfram's care. A moment later, a messenger stuck his head into the tent. "Bandits, Captain!" He caught his breath. "A bit knot of 'em, came in on our western flank."

Conrad's eyes narrowed. "How long before they're contained?"

"Can't say, sir." The messenger saluted. "His Excellency sent me back with the message."

"Go and find out," he ordered. "And bring back a report."

"Sir!" The messenger disappeared back out into the camp.

"Bandits?" Yuuri ran to the tent opening and peered out.

"Yuuri, get back in here!" Wolfram shouted, but the king slipped out into the camp anyway. Conrad followed, the other two on his heels.

"Your Majesty," Conrad called. "Please stop!"

Yuuri halted as a dozen or so soldiers raced past him toward the skirmish. From this point, they could hear the clash of sword on sword loud and clear. As well as the sounds of men falling in battle. The boy's dark eyes widened. "Why...?"

Conrad came up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're a large train with plenty of supplies. An easy, slow-moving target." He lowered his voice. "I doubt it has anything to do with who we are."

"Just random attacks, then..." Yuuri said tonelessly, then his face darkened. "We could have had innocent people here, and they wouldn't have cared."

The wind around them began to pick up sharply, blowing sand everywhere. Conrad tried to shield his face as the sand became more and more dense the closer it came to Yuuri.

"Yuuri, not here!" Wolfram yelled, then coughed as he, too, was forced to protect his face and eyes from the stinging sand.

"Bastards..." Yuuri muttered, eyes hidden by the now-long fringe that fell over his forehead. "Shouldn't be allowed to do it again."

Conrad watched in horror as a large hand began to rise up out of the ground, recognizing it all too well from the last time they were in these lands. With no water to speak of, Yuuri took his power from the earth. The sand shifted beneath his feet and knocked him off-balance; he fought to keep it as Murata pushed past him, fighting to get through the sand whirlwind to where Yuuri stood, motionless, his aura blazing. "Shibuya, call it back!"

"Make them pay..."

The hand towered over them, covering them all in its shadow as another pushed up from under Yuuri and His Highness. "Yuuri! Your Highness!" Conrad pulled his sword as the pair were lifted higher. The sand ground into his eyes and mouth, but he searched for some weak point in the rapidly wakening golem.

Around them, the tents and carts scattered, blowing away or being buried under sand. "You're hurting your _men_!" He heard Murata yell, but nothing seemed to be getting through. Conrad squinted up and saw Yuuri's aura beginning to flicker. If he didn't get himself under control... Conrad shoved that thought down violently and took an ineffectual swing at the lengthening arm.

Another flash of light from above them, a stronger, more intense flare the same pale blue as Yuuri's aura, and the whirlwind stopped.

Unfortunately, the golem immediately crumbled.

Conrad heard Wolfram yell and yank him backward, out from under the falling sand, and they both stared as both boys plummeted and landed in a heap, Yuuri on top of Murata. Conrad called for the medics, his voice just shy of cracking, while Wolfram ran on ahead.

Yuuri's pulse fluttered frantically beneath Conrad's fingers, but for the moment, it was enough he was alive. He and Wolfram rolled the unconscious king off the Sage, earning a hitching breath an a wince in return. "Your Highness," he called. "Can you move?"

Murata tried sitting up and gasped, holding onto his side while his face pinched. "Shibuya?"

"He's all right, just unconscious."

"Oh. That's good." Murata blinked slowly. "Don't let him do that again."

"Shh, just lie still."

A pair of Gwendal's men ran ahead of the medics and helped him pull the other boy out of the sand pile, taking care not to jostle him too badly. "I think I'll go to sleep now..." the Sage muttered as his eyes closed. One of the medics checked him over and gave Conrad a reassuring smile.

Wiping sand out of his mouth and hair, Conrad stood, turning to the unoccupied staff. "Take them both to His Majesty's tent. And have someone bring Gwendal and the others there as well," he barked orders while the medics took the boys away. "I want damage and casualty reports immediately."

"Yes, Captain!"

Conrad glanced down at the massive pile of sand separating them from the rest of the camp and felt more than a slight twinge of dread. Of all the possible ways to start out on a journey, this would be one of the last he would choose.


	4. Chapter 4

**May You Live in Interesting Times**

**Part Four**

Voices faded in and out in the moments before Murata opened his eyes.

"... day behind..."

"... idiot... -inking about... human lands?"

"That was most unusual," Sir von Kleist was saying as the lamplit ceiling of the tent came into fuzzy view. "His Majesty has never lost control like that before."

"He has." Sir von Voltaire now. "The last time we were here."

"It seemed different, though." Murata listened keenly to the tightness in Sir von Bielefeld's voice and guessed that Shibuya himself was either in a different tent or still asleep.

Finally, he shifted just enough to make noise, and decided to join in on the conversation. "I missed the previous instance," he said quietly, voice sounding a little groggy in his own ears. "But Sir von Bielefeld's right."

Sir Weller came into view first. "How are you feeling, Your Highness?"

The question prompted Murata to actually pay attention to his condition, rather than the much more interesting conversation taking place around him. The first word to come to mind was "sore", followed rapidly by the unpleasant knowledge that if he tried to move too much, he would probably vomit. And be in agonizing pain, if the twinge he got when breathing was any indication. A wry smile twisted his lips. "Like I fell several meters and someone landed on top of me."

"Your Highness," Sir von Kleist admonished, "you shouldn't joke about such things!"

"The doctor said the sand cushioned your fall," Sir Weller told him, either ignoring the older man's outburst or attempting to placate. Without his glasses, it was hard to tell. "Thankfully, you only hit your head and cracked a rib. It could have been much worse."

"I'm grateful for the sand then," Murata replied with a smile. He didn't really care what the damage was; he was conscious, capable of thought and speech, all senses were as sound as usual, and clearly he wasn't dying. All in all, things were fine. "How's Shibuya?"

Sir Weller's fuzzy face seemed to frown. "Still sleeping."

Murata closed his eyes. "Good. And when he wakes up, we should drug him."

"Your Highness," Sir von Bielefeld broke in. "What you said before..."

He cracked one eye open. "Only that when you haven't eaten or slept much for a week, power like Shibuya's would be impossible to control." The blond nodded. "I assumed that he had no such problems the first time." The young mazoku moved out of his line of sight and Murata wondered if he could manage sitting up. Trying made him wince, but an arm slid around his back to help him push up and slide back against a hastily arranged wedge of pillows. Murata opened his eyes and caught a pair of blue ones and smiled a little as Sir von Voltaire moved away.

"What's our status now?" he asked, opening a door for them to talk and him to listen. He preferred it that way, and talking was always more tiring than keeping one's thoughts to oneself. The rest of Shibuya's circle obliged, citing damage reports -- better than he expected -- and casualties -- worse -- and how long they would be staying put before heading off to their destination.

"We started out with a two-day head start," Sir von Voltaire said. "If we only stop for supplies in one of the outlying towns, we should still arrive on schedule."

Sir von Kleist rubbed his chin. "Hopefully, we can manage to keep what happened this afternoon quiet, otherwise we jeopardize our chance at a peaceful reception."

"We can blame the bandits," Murata mumbled, his eyelids starting to droop. Using as much of his own power to bring Shibuya under control had tired him more than he expected. "No one likes bandits."

He heard Sir Weller chuckle. "As you say, Your Highness." One of the lamps by the man wafted out. "Perhaps we should continue this once you and His Majesty are better rested."

"Mm," he replied more as a courtesy than anything else, and let his eyes close all the way.

When he woke again, Murata took a second inventory of his condition and felt more confident in negotiating himself into a sitting position. His ribs still protested hurried movement, but the nausea had all but disappeared.

The tent was mostly dark; the only light filtered in from the opening in the tent flap and a lamp in the furthest corner. It was also empty, save for himself and a still form to his left he assumed was Shibuya. He could hear muffled voices outside that he recognized as Shibuya's primary caretakers. Murata judged the time to be somewhere near mid-day; though someone had taken care to remove his travel jacket, even the thin button-down shirt he wore beneath it still seemed too much in the hot, stuffy tent. A quick glance and touch test failed to come up with his glasses; he would not have been surprised if they were broken. If his trunk had survived Shibuya's tantrum, he would have to grab one of his spare pairs. As it was, there seemed to be little to see, anyway. He gingerly stood up from his cot and stretched -- carefully -- then moved toward the other cot.

Murata looked down at his friend, listened to his even breathing for a moment, then shook his head. "I told you to let them take care of you, Shibuya."

An unexpected, thoroughly garbled reply surfaced from the prone teenager. Murata raised one eyebrow. "I'd think you also know better than to argue with me."

"Mrda?" His friend's eyes opened slowly and Murata felt sort of bad for waking him. "Wha...?"

"You flipped out over some bandits," he replied, keeping the initial explanation simple until he could be sure the other boy was fully awake. Might as well make lemonade.

Shibuya blinked and sat up slowly, brow furrowed. "I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised." Murata wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "You were pretty far gone." He paused when he saw his friend's attention turn toward him, or, more specifically, to where his shirt had risen to show the bandages. Shibuya eyed them with an unusual intensity, eventually reaching up to push the hem of up a little higher to see how high the strips of white cloth wound around his torso. "It doesn't hurt," he lied, smile easily slipping into place as his mind worked harder to decipher the expression on his friend's face. Progress stalled when Shibuya managed to find right were the rib had cracked and pressed hard enough to make Murata gasp and pull away.

"I'm not completely stupid," Shibuya growled, expression melting into a more familiar one of almost-hurt, though that unusual distance still remained in his eyes. Murata frowned, ready to protest or deflect the ire, then swallowed his words whole when the other teen lowered his head and kissed the spot he'd just pushed on.

An uneasy shiver tripped down Murata's back. "Shibuya," he murmured, fighting the urge to squirm when his friend didn't move back; rather, the heat from his breath soaked through the bandages and seemed to spread under his skin. "What are you--"

"I like you."

Murata nearly choked. He glanced over his shoulder at the tent flap, checking for any signs of Shibuya having been heard. "That's silly," he replied, keeping his voice low. "How can you say something like tha--" again, Shibuya cut him off mid-sentence, pressing another kiss against the bandage, and Murata grit his teeth. He took a step back, then felt his breathing quicken when Shibuya grabbed his wrist. "Shibu_ya_," he hissed, tugging at the grip. "Let go. We can't do this."

Despite his protest, when Shibuya pulled him forward, he went without much of a fight. "Why?" was the whispered reply, and the breath returned to his side.

"For one thing..." Murata shivered as Shibuya's free hand ghosted over his other side. "Your fiance's right outside."

Shibuya took a deep, slow breath and tightened his hold on Murata's wrist. "I don't want him like that... never have." Murata didn't know if Shibuya's word choice was intentional or just an honest description, but concern and dread and a poorly-quashed desire of his own began to surface. He looked down and all of those feelings tripled when he didn't see slitted pupils or medicinal haze in Shibuya's eyes. Nothing that would otherwise lead him to think that his friend wasn't completely aware of what he was saying.

"You're injured."

"So're you." Shibuya's free hand kneaded at his hip and Murata felt the firm, deliberate path of Shibuya's tongue against the bandage and his breath caught in his throat. "Worse'n me."

"I don't..." Murata bit down on his tongue to keep from finishing his thought. Somehow couldn't lie about that. "Don't want you to get hurt," he finished, finding refuge in vague language, just as he'd always done.

Shibuya chuckled humorlessly and in the hot, dark tent, it was a far more erotic sound than it should have been. "Won't that happen, anyway?"

Murata bristled; off-balance and blindsided by feelings he hadn't allowed himself or anyone else to believe existed, his irritation got the better of him. "Excuse me?" he snapped, tone harsher than he intended. "Stop providing opportunities and you won't get taken advantage of--nnnngh!" He squeezed his eyes shut as Shibuya tongued his navel, the tip slipping beneath the edge of the bandage to reach it. Only half thinking, he curled his hand into the other's slightly damp, sweaty black hair. "Wha... what's gotten into you?"

He leaned forward when Shibuya pulled on his wrist and lifted his head, bringing their faces very close. From this distance, Murata could see the over-bright sheen to his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted softly, eyes falling halfway closed. Murata felt his breathing take a somewhat shallow turn. "But..." the other continued, tilting his chin up. "I'm not lying..."

"You have a fever," Murata murmured, lips brushing against Shibuya's despite the words coming out of them. "I need to call the medic."

"This first." Shibuya caught his mouth in a clumsy, eager kiss that Murata couldn't help but return. A barely audible moan pushed up out of Shibuya's throat and Murata felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face as a full-body shiver rose goosebumps along his skin. He pressed still forward, flattening his hand on the cot to brace himself, hearing a soft sound of his own in the stifling tent as Shibuya's head tilted further back to accommodate the new position.

Shibuya groaned, louder this time, as their tongues met, and a spike of adrenaline sharpened Murata's senses at the thought of being heard. He sucked hard on Shibuya's tongue, savoring the taste and heat and feel of his friend's mouth before pulling back, panting, scrambling to piece his self-control back together.

"Mura...ta?" Shibuya's voice made him shudder, even as the fever-glaze and flush overtook whatever signs of desire had been there.

"Shibuya..." His fingers moved over his friend's cheek and forehead, touching clammy skin with a slightly frantic movement. He turned to hurry toward the tent flap, but took a step and found the other's hand still closed tightly around his wrist. "Shibuya, you have to let go," he urged, watching the coherency seep out of the other's eyes as he spoke. He pried out of Shibuya's grip and ran to the tent opening, ignoring the breath-stealing pain in his ribs. "Sir von Bielefeld, Sir Weller," he gasped. "Shibuya needs a doctor, _now_."

--+--

Time seemed to stop and speed up all at once when His Highness came bursting out of the tent. Conrad caught him as his legs gave out, exchanging a panicked look with Wolfram at the worry in the Sage's voice. His brother bolted into the tent, leaving Conrad to shout orders for the medic and care for His Highness. The Sage was nearly white, lips pressed tightly together as he breathed shallowly through his nose. Conrad ducked under one of his arms and helped him stand. "I apologize, Your Highness," he said softly, but no less urgently. "But can you tell me what happened?"

Murata's dark eyes clouded with some emotion Conrad had trouble naming, then he closed them in a slow blink. "He woke up and we talked..." It might have been the pain, but Conrad could have sworn the Sage looked discomfited. "Not long, but he's feverish and clammy and I'm not sure... he's all that lucid."

Conrad repeated Yuuri's symptoms to the two medics as they ran up, then stepped aside to let them pass. Although the medics would have been better served to be allowed to work in solitude, Conrad knew there would be absolutely no pulling Wolfram away from the king now. Convincing his younger brother to stand post outside the tent had been hard enough when they simply thought Yuuri was exhausted. Plus, they had two injured persons in the king's party. With some effort, he helped Murata back into the tent and onto his cot, but his gaze constantly drifted toward where Yuuri lay; Wolfram's expression was pinched as he paced behind one of the medics. From where Conrad could see, Yuuri's eyes were closed; he wondered if the boy had passed out right after Murata left his side.

One of the medics rose and glanced at Wolfram, then over his shoulder at Conrad. "His Majesty's very weak, Captain," he said. "I don't like the look of his fever."

He kept his face very, very still as it felt like an invisible hand clenched around his heart. "Do you know the cause?"

The man shook his head. "With the symptoms you described, could be a lot of things." The second medic took Yuuri's wrist in one hand and his lips moved in a silent count.

"Well, what can we _do_ about it?" Wolfram demanded, hands on his hips as he glared at the medics? The one taking Yuuri's pulse looked up at his comrade and frowned.

The first medic shook his head. "For now, keep him warm to see if the fever breaks. Water and cold compresses. We'll see if we can find a cause, but most of our research materials are back at the castle."

"Can he be moved?"

Conrad glanced down at Murata and found the boy had -- despite the obvious pain -- pushed himself up into a sitting position. The medic eyed him clinically for a moment, probably noticing what Conrad had, then looked back at Yuuri. "Probably, Highness," he said. "As long as he's not jostled too much, he should be all right."

Murata nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing slowly. Conrad pursed his lips. "Your Highness, perhaps you should lie down?"

"Trust me, Sir Weller, I am the least of our problems right now." Murata opened his eyes as Gwendal, Gunter and Hube entered the tent. The medics saluted hurriedly and left the tent, leaving Wolfram hovering beside Yuuri's head, checking the king's temperature for himself and frowning even further.

"What happened?" Gwendal spared a glance for the bed, then looked over at Conrad.

Gunter glanced after the medics, then turned back to look at Yuuri. "Is His Majesty all right?"

Conrad shook his head and explained the situation, repeating what Murata and the medics had told him, and his own scant observations. Gunter seemed to pale beyond his normal fair complexion. The lines around Gwendal's mouth deepened. "Of all the times to get sick, he has to choose now."

"It's not Yuuri's fault, Brother!" Wolfram's hand lingered on the crown of Yuuri's head.

"No one's... fault..."

Conrad looked up quickly when Yuuri spoke, eyes halfway open. "Your Majesty!"

"Yuuri!" Wolfram pressed a hand against his forehead and glared at him. "We _told_ you you were sick!"

"No school today, okay?" the king mumbled. "Call Murata... tell him to cancel... practice."

Conrad saw Murata and Gwendal exchange a look, though neither seemed any happier once they returned their attention to the bed. For his own part, Conrad patted Yuuri's hand and smiled, though he didn't know if Yuuri could see it. "Just get some rest, Yuuri."

Yuuri pushed at the blankets tucked around him. "Hot... maybe Greta's uncle would like to go to the gardens with us... have something for him from her..."

The six others in the room remained quiet after Yuuri drifted off, taking a moment for their own thoughts. Conrad felt a pang of guilt as he let Wolfram's admonition run through his thoughts a second time. They had thought something had been wrong before the journey started, but had done very little about it. Perhaps if they had listened to their own instincts instead of letting Yuuri do what he pleased, things would have been different.

But really, he had thought that so many times over the past months; if he hadn't found the willpower to say no to his king by now, he probably never would.

He took a deep breath and looked over at his older brother. "What now?"

Gwendal folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Gunter wrung his hands. "His Majesty's health must take priority," the seneschal said. "We must send to the castle and have healers meet us on the return trip."

"And what of the negotiations?" Conrad asked, disliking the need to. Yuuri would have wanted them to go forward, regardless of his condition. He saw the same thought in Gunter's eyes as the man faltered.

"Ah, well... perhaps we should divide the group, some of us carry on to the capital while the rest of us take His Majesty home."

"No." Gwendal's arms lowed and he placed his hands on his hips. "We will not split up. We will continue on to the capital."

Wolfram made a disbelieving sound in his throat. "Brother, you can't be serious."

"Sir von Voltaire is right," Murata said from beside Conrad. "The whole reason we're here is because Shibuya called the Elders' bluff. If he's not there, they won't listen."

Gwendal nodded in Murata's direction. "They need to see him. Otherwise they will doubt that we are telling the truth."

"Nooo, Shouri... my octopus wiener..."

Wolfram looked at Yuuri with a pained expression. "Hopefully, he will keep quiet, or they won't believe us anyway."


End file.
